Echo of his last call
by ShiHeTsu
Summary: My interpretation of a video made by duchesscloverly ("Echo"). One-shot. I tried to put all the scenes from the vid and show how and why memmories turned in to an ilusion. Sometimes people really are living with ghosts. Mycroft/Lestrade


_Hey guys! Below is my interpretation of the video made by duchessclovelry. I know that there are few of similar fanfics so now even I tried to written something 'cause I'm obsessed with that vid. It was 2 or 3 AM when I opened docs and started. Enjoy and tell me what you think about it._

There was few calling beeps after the voice mail informed about leaving a message. So let it be. Gregory Lestrade sighed after he ended a call. After those few years he got used to talking to female robotic voice, even if sometimes Anthea picked up, same thing. It was really exhausting day. Week, actually.

Once again Sherlock was on the lead of the right hand man of that psycho Moriarty known as Sebastian Moran. And to add to the mess, they needed to protect Mary and her baby girl. John and his family was now a target to Moran. As once the criminal mentioned he created a plan to get to Holmes brothers for ending Moriarty's life. The pattern was not that difficult after one failed attack on Mary causing a labor, too early for the baby. The family was everything to John, John was everything for Sherlock and Sherlock was Mycroft's priority. So hurting Watsons is for Moran a key not only to end Sherlock but Mycroft also. And for that Lestrade could not allow.

Lestrade once again sighted and put a cigaret between his teeth and lighted it. To hurt Mycroft… Greg couldn't even imagine how deeply wounded the older Holmes could be. He was so over protective for his younger brother. The DI smiled fondly. Yes indeed. The younger version of the consulting detective who was an addict was the reason for them to met. Unfortunately, or rather fortunately, he was in the right time to catch an annoying junky and take a part in all the absurd situations and crazy investigations. But without trying to arrest Sherlock for few charges he wouldn't be with that brilliant man with diet and exercising obsession. Once again Greg smiled a little and take a turn to leave and have a walk to their house. Yes, their house. The man slipped his mobile to the pocket. He would leave Mycroft alone for him to work. It must be something important, as always, for him not to pick up their private line.

With his eyes still on a pavement he picked up a pair of military shoes and dark trousers. Lestrade took a cigaret from his lips and looked at a strangers face. The cigaret fell from his hand and rolled down the way to the person.

"You should know, Detective Inspector, that this little things are killing you" said the man with gun pointed in Greg's direction.

"Moran…"

And in that moment Lestrade didn't know if he meant a cigaret of the bullet in his side. In the first moment he didn't know that he was hit. He felt a clingy damp dress shirt on his skin. Shock. Pain. The ache of body hitting a ground. The pain was incredible. Moran took few steps and stopped beside Lestrade's laying body. In that moment their eyes met and Greg put his hands in the air for Moran as a gesture of a surrender. He can't need to buy himself some time and think how to beat this man. He have to be elsewhere! He have to be with…

Sebastian raised a gun, aimed and pulled the trigger.

"I thought in this situation is for you, Sir, to go with Mr. Holmes to the morgue after I will inform him" informed Anthea's voice deformed by the squeaking phoneline.

He knew what could happen, he knew what is going to happen… And he need to watch carefully.

Sherlock without another word ended a call and sensing John as he was lurking in the doorway, he standed up and grabbed a handle. And to John's question about him being ok the answer was automatic. He was okay but he wouldn't be so sure about his brother

Mycroft pull out his mobile from the inside pocket of his jacket. One missed call with a voice mail. It could wait. He saw an satisfying information from his PA about Moran's death and a little present to ensure that the criminal is dead. The gun he promised to use to avenge Moriarty. He sent her text with instruction to leave it in his private office in his and Gregory's home. Good. At last. With a frown he looked on the second massage from her few minutes later. And after reading it he couldn't catch a meaning. He read it few times and could not understand it.

Tipical. Why it is always the Bart's hospital they end? The Bart's morgue where now were Mycroft with his brother and the girl who fancied the younger one of them, Molly Hooper. But there was another body- lifeless body. Under the white material there was a secret that older Holmes didn't want to know. The woman looked at them frightened and with shaking hand grabbed the edge of the white fabric. She pulled it a little to show them a face of the victim. All the time she was looking on the man in the three piece suit who was looking distantly at the pale body of Gregory Lestrade. He turn his eyes at her and thanked her. She was looking on the slowly closing door. After the door softly clicked she looked at Sherlock.

"They were close, weren't they?" she asked but the only answer was his silence and piercing grey eyes. "I see so many broken hearts when the closed ones to those poor people are in the same position as you two. I can recognize grief even on you Holmes."

He was distant. Mycroft was so far away from the world that called him constantly. And the only thing that he was doing in that time was sitting in his chair and looking at their living room. On the sofa where Greg used to sit, almost lay, with glass of lager or mug of strong black coffee before bedtime. He liked to do that, every time explaining him that caffeine helped him sleep. Of course every single time when Mycroft needed to turn off the light to be able to sleep, Greg was in the middle of interesting moment in his book and asked to give him a minute. It's not the late coffee that made him be immune to sleep. This book is so interesting that "Only to the end of a chapter, Myc." He missed it.

He was there, on the couch. Laughing after receiving Mycroft's "Here we go, once again about your caffeine addiction." He was laughing and Homes every time was frowning at his lover for marginalize their lack of sleep. And that laughter was the end of their peaceful evening when ginger head raised up and went to bathroom to bathe and change. And Greg was right after him, leaving the mug.

"Myc, oh come on!" he knocked on the door with still lingering smile on his lips." I promise I'll sleep like a baby! I'm changing right this moment and go to bed! I even left my coffee!"

"You are not allowed to go to bed all greasy after your little run with Sherlock and his personal nanny!" called irritated Holmes behind the bathroom door.

"So let me in so I can take a quick shower till I'm sleepy!" No replay. Greg sight. "Myc. You know that you Holmes brothers have sulking in your blood? You're really alike."

In that moment door opened wide and barefoot, unbuttoned white shirt on the black slacks, was standing Mycroft with raised eyebrow and crossed arms.

"No" the Government in all his glory denied. " We're not."

After he catched Gregory's narrow eyes with a smirk he knew he was gone.

"Gotcha…" the DI took a step in and grabbed Mycroft in the embrace closing bathroom doors.

And now? Now the same frowning man was sitting once again defeated and the cause of it was Gregory. But why the circumstances were different. Why so different!

The next morning he was sick of that house. Sick of being there. Lying all night and feeling cold to the core of his heart. He needed to cut memories of, even for a little while. He needed to be in place where he used to be and where Gregory was not that often. The Diogenes Club. He was sitting in his favorite chair near the fireplace. It was nice warm sunny afternoon. He is going to act as always. He needed to. So as usually he pick up a newspaper and kept flipping few pages to search facts not stories. He stopped after he stand face to face with the reality. From the picture was starring non other than the Detective Inspector, Greg Lestrade. The only information under the picture was that he was on the investigation and he was… Mycroft didn't even end the sentence. He folded the paper and placed it on the little table beside him. After few seconds of staring at empty fireplace he slant and with his hands covered a face.

He will not show them. Not all those strange people in the club. No, here also he cannot forget about the tragedy that was his fault. Why he was so reckless. He should make dozen of his man to look for Gregory. They thought that the target was John. And now! Now. Now… was too late.

The sun almost set. The last praying sunlight tried stubbornly make their way through large window in the dining room. Sitting beside the table with a brandy as a company he tried to remember how he got here after the funeral. He tried to remember the said funeral. But he couldn't. He put his hands together as if for a pray. He started to brush his thumbs under his chin still looking in the distance.

And only thing he could play as a tape was Gregory chewing something which irritated Mycroft. The scenery where they both were drinking same drinks not long after they met, where Lestrade tried to be the cool one without the fear that the personification of the British Government was sitting on the other end of the table.

One more the next night after he was dead tired and sitting in the kitchen where they ended after their first "date" as Gregory called it. Holmes picked up the wrong place. The posh restaurant where Greg was not feeling all that carefree. To make it up Mycroft suggest his house where they could takeaway picked by Lestrade. And even though the gingerhead did not like the "fast food" cuisine he liked the company.

And another time in their living room where every time when Mycroft came back from some mission aboard Gregory was standing at the end of the stairs from the floor where was their destination- bedroom. Now waiting for a car with umbrella in his hand he was staring in that direction. Anthea standing near the front door was looking at her superior with concern.

Week later after nearly seven hours in the plain he pick his mobile to check if anyone wanted to contact him in the time of the flight. After dialing the voicemail to his surprise he was informed by the robotic female voice that he have one new message. He waited patiently for the upcoming news and…

"Hey!" he heard Gregory's raspy voice. He was sure that in that moment he was smoking- Mycroft always knew when Greg was nearly breaking their promise of "quitting bad habit"."Do you want me to come pick you up? Obviously it's not something your thinking right about now…"

No. He was not expecting that. He wiped his face with disbelief. It was that one missed call before Anthae informed him about the fate of the man he heard just seconds ago. He failed that man. And he couldn't let go playing the same last message all the night so that he could remember the that voice.

Today he came back home late. It didn't matter because there was nobody waiting for him. He forgot how it was before the greying man stepped into his life. His back was to Gregory's couch but the comment…

"Your late again…" Greg voice could be heard from the distant.

Almost replaying Mycroft turned around looking in that direction. He was there! Siting and clasping his hands with anticipation. As if waiting for rude reply about too serious matter of the today's situation to telling him.

Few days later he was taking his leave from his office and to his surprise in the hall Sherlock was waiting for him near the window. He took few steps in his direction.

"You should rest more. Car is waiting" said Sherlock and without turning his back took his leave.

And with his brother leave the view on the street was revealed. There, next to the car, waiting for him was Gregory. Mycroft slowly make his way to the exit. And he stopped seeing his lover outside. Greg looked his way with a frown on his face that he need to wait this long or that it was very late. With little on mind Holmes left the building and make his way to the car where was waiting the DI.

And so days passed by he saw his lover everywhere. The worst times were when he was late with Greg waiting for him. This time he was standing in their living room and the greying man was standing in the middle of the room in the bathrobe with hands crossed and looking in his direction as if he wanted to scold a little child. Holmes sat in the chair and sighted. He knew that he has to face it. In that moment Greg sat not on the couch but in his chair opposite Mycroft's.

"You know you shouldn't do that to yourself, Myc" said quietly Lestrade. "I can see your exhausted. You look pale. And you did not eat today or yesterday. I can see Anthea checking out fridge and only taking out expired food."

Mycroft was looking at his feet not responding to that ghost before his very eyes. How could he. It will mean that he gone mad. That the grief was too big for him to bear. And in some small part he believed that if he would do that than Gregory's soul will not rest in peace. It would mean that he was holding him down.

In the exactly the same chair the next Sunday afternoon he was sitting with the glass of a fine was listening what hilarious story Gregory was telling him and he wanted to smile to laugh with him but the only thing he could do right now was taking a deep breath and reach to the glass. For one slick moment he was wondering if it would not be easier to be able to laugh with his loved one. He looked in the way where Greg's chair was and… he was not there. Once more he glanced at the glass full of alkohol. It could be easier.

Sherlock saw his brother entering his flat while John was typing one more hideous story on his blog. How people could read that?! But now was not the time for correcting silly mistakes John was making in their last case. In the middle of Baker Street's 221B was the wrack of a man. Mycroft's fuzzy ginger hair were flat, with pale skin and lost weight we looked really bad. Sherlock raised and now was face to face with the misery placed in his flat.

The consultant detective knew from the moment he ended his one sided conversation with Anthea, from the moment he shut the door to John face, who was hiding with his family on the Baker Street so that Moran could not find them. Sherlock knew how his brother would look, feel and think now.

"Lestrade" was the only word, a name, Sherlock placed in the air.

In that instant air was colder than the most freezing winter night in Scotland. Mycroft was piercing his younger brother with his steel eyes. Even John not moving from his seat, but only turning his head, could feel the mental battle between brothers.

"He's not any concern of yours. From now on, you will stay out of it. He took his leave. He knew that today he will not win this battle. Sherlock knew how to break his brother so that he will admit that he could not cope with the situation. And he knew why Anthea called him before she informed her superior what happened. He needs to be by his brothers side. He saw it on the crime scene once and it was egouth.

The next Detective Inspector that took Gawin's place did not agree with Sherlock. He as always made rude comments and on the receiving end was the man who took charge of the investigation. Mycroft was few minutes later on the crime scene. He made his way from the black car in his younger brother's direction. After short discussion they made it was clear that his brother who was once a powerful man was in no good shape. And then, it lasted only one minute, but it was there. Mycroft glance to the side, Sherlock looked the same way. There was thin air. The flashing light from police cars was lighting the scene. But for it seems that his brother saw something.

In the distance Gregory was looking on the faces of other officers and evidence one of his fellow had. And after they passed Holmes brother their eyes met. In instant Greg smiled to Mycroft but the said man only sight and looked down. Sherlock knew what was going with his brother and he thought that Mycroft also had known. That's why without the word he left Sherlock and left to waiting black car.

After he came back home, that lonely house he glanced on the other end of the kitchen table. Greg smiled in his direction. He wanted to say something to Gregory but he only glanced at the middle of the wooden surface. Not to sure if he should smile back. No. He cannot do that. And in that moment Lestrade had rise up and picked up his phone. He was standing in the suit. He looked well. Mycroft damped his lips in anticipation. He wanted to kiss Gregory. He wanted to feel that body heat once more. Greg turn his eyes from his mobile and saw the longing. It was the last time they saw each other.

So now they were. In Sherlock's flat with John taking his leave to the safety of his home, where Mary was waiting with their baby girl. Safe. Mycroft took John's armchair while Sherlock was picking some random strings waiting for his friend to leave and talk seriously with his brother. The strings did not play music. Only few tones that didn't make sense. Mycroft knew that the buzzing at the back of his head would be serious headache. On the middle of the room there was a chair left by the last client. None of them took the wooden chair away. Mycroft was looking in that direction as if he was looking on someone's face. Really concern face. Greg couldn't take it any more.

"Are you okay?" he said finally.

"Fine" replied Mycroft rudely to make his point.

And it was it. John was looking shocked at his friend's brother. Sherlock stopped playing the annoying tune glancing at another Holmes.

Standing next to the window, on the Christmas Eve Mycroft typed his brother that he wished him not only good eve but also a good life and as a present he is giving all he has to him to do with it as he please. And one more thing that Anthea gave Mycroft as a present after Moran's death.

Mycroft turned to his bed. Thier bed. Gregory was reading the last book he took. Deep down Lestrade knew what his lover wanted to do. They were sharing a glance and Holmes turned back.

After that he made one call. After only one signal the voicemail started.

Sherlock knew what his brother wanted to do. He was on a dinner in Watson's house when he received a text. He stormed out calling for John to come with him. They took John's car and tried to make to Mycroft's house as fast as they could. The front door were open but the bedroom was locked. Sherlock broke down the door and walk in. He and Watson saw his brother. Laying on the bed. By his side there were two phones- his and Lestrade. Gavin's device flashing pulsar light with missed call.

And on the carpet was laying Moran's gun.

"You have one new message"

 _"I'm sorry."_


End file.
